


hoping this will reach my soul

by Nyxierose



Series: (would you want me) standing in the same light [2]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 01, catharsis sex, except not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 07:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: "This time is gonna be a hell of a lot harder to justify, she knows. But on the other hand, it might be the first truly voluntary thing she's ever done."Or, accidental feelings happen.





	hoping this will reach my soul

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "An Act of Kindness" by Bastille.

She's angry. More than anything else, Lucy is angry.

As cliché as it is, the phrase "I didn't ask for any of this" keeps repeating in her head, over and over and over. Of _course_ she's pureblood, it explains so much of the weird shit that's happened to her recently - not all of it but enough, too much - and maybe she'll never be able to fully fight it off. And even if she does, even if she manages to defy, every thought she ever had of having children someday is dead now. She's not bringing an innocent life into this, no matter how far she runs it wouldn't be safe and-

Aright, it's a little weird to be thinking about her hypothetical children when she's getting dragged through catacombs in 1927 Paris by Flynn's only reliable lackey, but it's been a very strange couple days even by her standards.

Lucy's not familiar with her current surroundings, but it seems like the tunnels go on forever. They're a bit over a hundred years old at this point, which combined with their purpose makes them creepy as fuck, and she can't remember the last time she slept and now is probably a _really_ bad time to realize that, and… okay, there is really no way tonight can get weirder. She gives up.

After what feels like half an hour, finally, they hit a dead end and the one person Lucy trusts not to throw yet another explosive curveball into her life.

Which… is kinda terrifying to admit, seeing as she's spent the last six months trying to avert Flynn's rampage through time, but all of that was before. Before she knew why he was doing it. Before the real enemy was made clear. (Before they fucked on a hotel bed in 1893 for no real reason other than because they were bored.) And even before certain recent events, he's been growing on her. Still an asshole, but has two things going for him at the moment - he's predictable, and he takes her seriously. Two things Lucy _definitely_ appreciates for their rarity.

"Let her go," he orders, and the lackey immediately drops his grip and slinks off into the shadows.

Lucy can't help but remember what happened the last time it was just her opposite Flynn. Okay, technically they're not _alone_ , one of history's great heroes-turned-epic-jerks is presumably on the other side of that door, but she supposes that little detail doesn't count. Intents and purposes, they're alone, and now is a bad time for a particular flashback and-

"I know," she breathes. "I know what I am."

She wants to cry. She hasn't cried in front of another human being since she was in high school, but she wants to and she feels the weight crash over her before she can stop it. Sparkly dress, still-impeccable makeup, and she's falling apart at a very bad time. (As if there's ever going to be a _good_ time for this.) She justifies it like she does everything else, forces the thought through her head that better here than anywhere someone might actually _worry_ about her, better like this where the only person watching doesn't give a damn about her and-

"Shhh. Lucy. Shhh."

Somehow, because apparently she was wrong about today not getting any weirder, Flynn has decided that holding her is a solution to dealing with awkward hysterically-crying hot-mess woman. And he's not exactly _wrong_. It feels nice to be able to crash against another person, bury her face against his chest and breathe in a scent she suspects is going to become familiar in time to come and just _be_. For once, no one is asking anything of her. She is safe. (She always has been with this man.)

"They have plans," she hisses once she can breathe again, returning to her anger like the comforting blanket it is. "For me. For my future children, which is cute because there's no way in hell I'm having any now that I know. For-"

"You don't have to follow them."

"You sure? Sounds like I don't get much of a choice."

"You think that _now_." He shifts the position of his hands on her back, and she remembers the journal is still a thing and he's probably memorized every detail of who she becomes. "You are more than that, Lucy. You don't-"

"Tell me. Please." Ten years down the line, she tells herself. She's not asking for immediate spoilers, she's asking for a future where she's still her own person. She hopes that's justifiable enough.

"You fight them."

"No shit." Vague, frustratingly vague, she wants more, she wants-

"Everything you do, you make choices against them. You find… you make a life with someone they do not want, you-"

As strangely endearing as it is to watch Flynn try and fail to avoid the detail of their inevitability, Lucy's not in the mood for bullshit. "You can just say it. Something else is going to go wrong, probably set the remains of my life on fire, and I'm going to fall in love with you. Am I wrong?"

"Something like that."

"Okay."

She's too tired to give a damn, she decides as she pushes herself up on tiptoe and kisses him.

This time is gonna be a hell of a lot harder to justify, she knows. But on the other hand, it might be the first truly voluntary thing she's ever done. Her brain runs through a greatest-hits montage of her life and so, so much of it fits right in with the dark fate they apparently want for her.

But not this, she reminds herself as she somehow ends up with her back against a wall. Not this at all. She's not _totally_ sure what her endgame is according to Rittenhouse, but she's pretty damn certain that fucking the greatest threat to their continued existence isn't on her intended to-do list.

And pretty damn certain, as he lifts her up for better leverage and her legs wrap around his waist instinctively and she is so very thankful that late-1920s women's fashion was practically designed for this sort of thing, that it's what she wants most in the world.

It's easy to see why she'd choose this on a more conscious level, now that she's aware of _why_ she does. Gods, probably not love so much as a brutal practicality, but that could be enough for her. Not yet, definitely not yet, but maybe in a year or two. Maybe, once she learns to fight better and has some kind of a plan, she will let herself feel things. Maybe-

"Still with me?"

Flynn's hands have stilled on her hips between her dress and her slip, neither of which she intends to take off. This isn't love, she reminds herself, this is cathartic sex against a cold stone wall because it's the best emotional distraction she can come up with. It doesn't need to be more than that.

"Not really," she mutters. "I don't care."

"It's not right. If you go unresponsive on me, I'll stop…"

"I. Don't. Care. I am _sick_ of feeling things right now."

"This won't help."

"Since when do you care about me?" she growls.

Somehow, that's enough to shut him up. He communicates with his body instead, hands wandering where she wants them and pushing her underwear down and almost dropping her entirely for the couple seconds it takes to get that one garment off her.

And gods, she may have a thing about his hands. Maybe. Not that she's going to say as much, _ever_ , but-

"Stay with me, Lucy."

She forces herself to keep her eyes open and wonders absentmindedly if his dick is even going to end up in her at any point in this encounter or if now is the first time in the past two years that Garcia Flynn has decided to be completely selfless. Hopefully not option two. She wants distraction in all the ways, she wants to be numb and at the same time she wants to feel everything at once, she wants-

She wants. She never knew there could be power in those two little words, but apparently that too is part of her rebellion.

Too much thinking, not enough focus on everything else. One of his hands is still on the small of her back, protecting her from discomfort against the _very_ cold wall behind them; the other explores her core, almost methodically, never the same place or type of touch for long enough for her to want more. He's learning her, she realizes, mentally taking note of her reactions to each sensation. The fact that he wants to know her as she is instead of transforming her into something else is overwhelming, and-

Everything abruptly stops, before she even realizes she's crying again.

"I told you not to stop," she breathes. "I trust you not to hurt me. That's enough."

"Not for me."

"Why?"

"You're not… you do not owe me this, Lucy."

"Is that really what you think?" Ah yes, back to anger, the only emotion she seems to know anymore. Violent wants or uncontrollable crying. Which even counts as the lesser of evils at this point? "You think this is about you? At all? It isn't. You're just convenient, and safe, and you _were_ predictable until you started giving a damn about me for reasons other than the journal, and-"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me."

He kisses her like he understands, and his hand returns to its previous place between her legs with clearer intent. Better pressure, more focused, more-

Eyes open, still, as she is overwhelmed in a much better way.

"This was about me," she mutters as he gently sets her down on the floor and steps back to give her space to compose herself. She knows, doesn't even feel the need to ask, that nothing more will happen here. And perhaps that's best, perhaps that's enough, perhaps-

"Some other time," he reassures her, taking one last kiss before their balance shifts again. "Now, I believe you wanted something else from me…"


End file.
